


Oh, What a Dream it Was

by Bofursunboundbraids



Series: These Precious Things [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Betrayal, Bodily Harm, Fire, Gold Sickness, M/M, a brief moment of non-con intimate touch, underage petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1645652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Light exploded out from the mountain along with a form that twisted and writhed, aglow and shimmering, dropping a shower of golden rain as it rose into the night sky. And from up high, it swooped and glided, now a burning crimson shadow that became larger with every passing second.</p><p>"Dragon." Edda whispered through bloodless lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, What a Dream it Was

**Author's Note:**

> And here we are...the penultimate episode. I'm playing a little loose with canon; following the chain of events but not quoting the text...much.
> 
> I tagged non-con intimate touch. It's quick...but it's there.

_"I know I'll never be beautiful, but you kissed me once, in the sun." the maid Elen whispered, her fingers entwined with the ties of her cloak._

_"Please, my heart, you are beautiful..." Cirion reached out to touch her, but she moved away. Elen would not listen._

_"I know I'll never be lovable, but you made me think I was wrong."_

_"Elen,..." his voice choked on his regret as tears began to fill his eyes._

_"Don't you dare shed tears for **us** , whatever that could've meant, Cirion Minaster. You made me believe in a dream that was nothing but lies." Elen took a step back, closer to the river that flowed swiftly behind her._

_Cirion shook his head, searching desperately for words to break the terrible spell that gripped his love's heart like a vice, "no...no lies, Elen..."_

_"Yes, Cirion, lies...but they were beautiful lies," She took one look behind her, at the cold, rushing water, "Oh what a dream it was."_

_The maid, Elen, whom Cirion now knew he loved to the very depth of his soul, took one step back and..._

There was a distant roar and a violent shake.

Edda tore her gaze away from her book and froze. When the room ceased to sway back and forth, she slid out of bed and ran to the small window of her attic room. It was night, and the only light came from an autumn's crescent moon in a clear sky. She heard nothing; no voices raised in question as to the rumble that shook Laketown down to the base of its pilings. She looked hard through the dark, to see the Lonely Mountain. She thought of the dwarves who had filled the Master's hall with song and merry laughter, and of Thorin who would be king and his pretty lover Bilbo and the promise he had made to her;

_"When Erebor is ours," he had said, "I would take you away from here to live with us."_

After the company left to continue their journey, she had run up to her room. There she packed the same bag she had carried her meagre possessions in four years before. That was when her father's uncle, who had had no time or use for an orphaned girl-child, sold her into the service of the Master, an old crony of the gambling dens and seedy joints that lined the edges of the rotting wood town. Most of the things she packed were the same as before; her mother's locket and silver brushes, her father's tobacco tin and the book of fantastic tales he had read to her every night before bed. And wedged at the top was the yarn owl her nan had made her when Edda was just a baby. She slid the bag under her bed, ready for that day when Thorin would return to take her to the mountain.

Climbing onto her bed, she laid back down on her stomach and wrapped her arms around the pillow she had taken from the bed Thorin and Bilbo shared. She buried her nose in it, breathing in the scent of them and re-playing the memory of that morning, those last moments before they left. Sweet Bilbo, the kindest creature she'd ever met, who always asked if she was hungry or tired. And Thorin...she took a deep sigh and remembered the feel of his lips on hers, the scratch of his beard, his arms around her, and his promise of a new home. She had been nothing to him when he had defended her before the Master, and now...he had called her by a foreign-sounding word. What was it, again? Kavoosh? Kazoosh? Oh dear...she knew she should've written it down.

She let her eyes drift back to the book lying open in front of her, but she could no longer follow the story. Laying her head on the pillow she closed her eyes.

-boom-

She woke with a start, immediately sitting up. She listened, hearing nothing but the thundering of her heart.

-boom-

There it was again; a distant thundering rumble that shook the town as before. She flew, once again, to the window, but this time there was a golden light that came from the direction of the mountain.

-boom-

Light exploded out from the mountain along with a form that twisted and writhed, aglow and shimmering, dropping a shower of golden rain as it rose into the night sky. And from up high, it swooped and glided, now a burning crimson shadow that became larger with every passing second.

"Dragon." Edda whispered through bloodless lips.

Without a thought, she threw on her coat and boots and grabbed her bag from under the bed. Without another look at her small room, she fled down the narrow attic steps, down the hall past the guest room where she had been gifted a great hope, down stairs and through the great hall, and she yelled, 

"Shy! It's coming! We have to go...SHY!!!"

"Fuck it all, Edda, I swear..." Shy came out of the silver pantry, straightening her skirts, her hair a mess, her lips red and swollen.

"Shy!" Edda grabbed the other girl's arm and pulled, "the dragon is coming! I saw it! It's coming this way..we have to go. Now! Shy, PLEASE!"

"Geddoff of me, you little rat." Shy wrenched her arm away. "I'm going to tell the Master about you..."

"I think it would be quite prudent of you to tell the Master everything, my cherry." Alfrid stepped out of the pantry behind Shy. He leered at Edda as he dragged his tongue along the edge of Shy's ear. The older girl moaned wantonly.

"The dragon..." Edda started.

Shy's face became red and ugly with hate. "Right! Well, if there is a dragon, I hope it ate your precious little friends...disgusting, buggering..." 

"Pederasts, I believe, is the word you're looking for." Alfrid sneered as he cupped Shy's breast.

Edda stood, terrified, staring at the two, lost in their base lust, before she turned and ran. 

She was only a few feet from the grand front doors of the hall when the first firebolt hit. The windows on the north side exploded in, showering her in shards of glass that cut her hands as she raised them. A sharp slap and a burning sting sliced across her face as a thick, silk curtain cord, all afire, whipped out. Adrenalin cancelled out any pain she could've felt as she ran out the doors, desperate to get out from under anything that could come crashing down upon her. She could hear the Master, in his room, screaming in abject terror for Alfrid. Running, she joined the other citizens coming out of their homes, confused and horrified by what was happening. 

Another bolt of flame came down from the sky, exploding roof tops two lanes over. The night was a solid noise; screams, glass shattering, and old, rotting, burning timbers crackling. She managed to keep moving forward, her feet solid beneath her and a constant litany of "it can't hurt me, it can't hurt me" playing in her head. All she had to do was make it to the bridge and then over the rocky shore and into the trees. 

"You will all die TONIGHT!" Smaug declared with a thundering hiss as leathery wings beat the air and fire flew. Edda tried not to listen to the horrified yells, the bridge was so close...almost there.

-ROAR!-

And then it happened. The vicious worm blew its terror down upon the bridge, incinerating structures and bodies in an instance. The survivors were now trapped and desperately began to jump into the icy cold waters of the lake. Edda looked at the burning bridge, already starting to collapse, and she looked at the dark water. She knew how to swim, every Laketowner did, but it was so cold, and she was fully dressed...

She was falling. Down, down, down. Into dark water. Cold water. A large mass had forced her decision; a terrified man who could only see his own life's value. Into the lake they went. Thousands of tiny daggers stabbed into the girl who fought and flailed to get her head above water. The cold was paralyzing. Muscles began to refuse her instinct to live. Her woolen clothes became heavier with every second. More water was going into her than air. The firelight danced and blurred. It really was quite pretty.

"Here's another one..help me pull her out!" Rig, the baker's son, held fast to a handful of sodden coat. The father's hands joined in and together they pulled the pale girl into the small boat. The craft bobbed precariously, but the boy and his father were as capable on water as they were behind a dough table. The lad searched the girl for breath, then blew his own into her still lungs. Edda came awake with a sudden jerk, lake water spilling from her mouth. Rig sat her up, chaffing her hands. 

"Will you be all right, miss?" 

Edda coughed and shivered, wrapping her arms around her soggy self. She nodded, her teeth chattering violently.

"Mmmmmok-k-k-kay." 

"Keep your arms moving about...keep the blood moving through ya...that's it, miss...keep moving. Got to pull in others and get us to shore before that beastie cooks us where we sit." 

A few more fortunate souls were pulled from the water before the boat was rowed to land. Edda forced her feet to move, one in front of the other, up the bank of the shore. And, with the others, she watched Laketown, the only home she'd ever known, burn. The heat from this funeral pyre warmed the survivors, and many felt gratitude colored by shame.

Edda would never forget, for all the long years of her life, that moment when the dragon swooped down low, glittering from its own firelight, and was struck by a single, black arrow. The fell beast pierced the inferno's chaotic noise with its shriek as it rose, spinning, into the air before plunging down, full onto the town, announcing it's total ruin. Steam rose from the lake.

The great worm Smaug was dead.

Edda sat down on the rocky shore, her face all aglow, and watched her home burn until dawn.

* * *

"Come to me, my burglar."

Bilbo chuckled humorlessly, "So, we're back to that are we?"

Thorin was too impressed with himself to hear. "I have found something just for you." 

Bilbo made his way carefully across the vast treasure room deep within Erebor, the floor a slippery sea of gold, to where his love stood holding something brilliant and shining in his hand. He kept his eyes focused on the object, uncomfortable with the too-bright light behind Thorin's eyes. It reminded Bilbo of the eery glow that had emanated from Smaug's great reptilian orbs. 

"What is it?"

Thorin held the thing out. It was a small, silver, mail shirt. "The first piece of payment for services rendered."

Bilbo, a blue sadness washing over his heart at Thorin's words, took the delicate garment from him. He ran his fingers over the tiny rings that made the fabric. It truly was a gorgeous thing. And he said so.

"It is made of Mithril, a silver from the most hallowed depths of Khazad Dûm, and it will protect you from sword and spear..."

Bilbo wore a small smile at the care he hoped he heard in Thorin's voice. "And what about dragon's fire?"

Thorin laughed, an almost manic scrape to it, "of course not, my silly toy! Here, let's put it on you."

Before Bilbo could protest, Thorin was pulling his coat off his shoulders and clumsily attacking his shirt front, thick fingers having a difficult time working the tiny buttons through their holes. The last one was ripped off completely. 

"Skin the little bunny smooth," Thorin snarled in his ear. He pushed the ragged garment back, exposing the pale pink torso. "Mmmm...," he ran his hand over Bilbo's chest, his thumb grazing a nipple, He watched it rise and tighten. Bending down, he dragged his tongue over it, then the other.

Bilbo stood there, his arms held to his sides by the iron grip of Thorin's hands. The feeling of that tongue on him was shooting a shock of irritation through his body and all he wanted to do was push him away. "Thorin, please, don't..." he tried to twist away before finally letting loose a kick that hit the dwarf in the shin. 

"Bilbo?" Thorin pulled away, startled and confused, "what...what's wrong? What did I..." he looked at the small man standing before him, arms wrapped around his chest, shivering. The fear in those brown eyes struck him hard and he sucked in a deep, jagged breath. "Did I hurt you? Please, _Mahal_...tell me I didn't hurt you."

A barbed band tightened around Bilbo's heart and he forced a smile on his face and tried to blink away the tears that threatened to fall. He shook his head..

"No, no you didn't hurt me...just...", He bent down and picked up the shiny shirt, "Wouldn't Edda love to get a look at this? Where is that girl with her basket of breakfast?" The forced chuckle hurt his throat.

Thorin let out a too-loud bark of a laugh and clapped his hand down hard on Bilbo's bare shoulder, "That's my little sweet cake, thinking of his stomach while standing amidst _this_!" Thorin spread his arms and turned in place. "The grandest, most marvelous kingdom in the _world_! And it's all mine, Bilbo, it's **mine**!" His words ended on a shout and reverberated about the cavernous room. Bilbo could see some of the others stop and turn towards their king, before whispering amongst themselves. 

"Yes, Thorin, it is yours, and I'm glad of it, but I'm sure some of the lads are beginning to feel a rumble in their bellies..."

"They are not your concern, Master Baggins. Besides," Thorin picked up a handful of coins and small gems and let them fall slowly from between his fingers, "the dragon is gone. And we have enough now that my folk will never ****ever be hungry again."

The fear Bilbo was trying so hard to ignore forced its way in and chewed on his gut, "About Smaug, Thorin..."

"Give here...," Thorin cut off Bilbo's words and ripped the shirt from his hand. He worked the garment reverentially between his own.

"Thorin, the dragon! No, stop...listen to me! He's gone off to who knows where...Laketown perhaps. And Edda, she could be de..." Panic surged and he had to swallow hard.

"Stop." Thorin hissed at him, his voice low and hot. "I will not hear you say that! I will not believe it! I made a pr...," he squeezed his eyes tightly, a death grip on the mithril. "I made a _promise_ , Bilbo."

"I know, Thorin, I know...I was there."

"I gave her my word," and with that word a tear fell down his ruddy cheek.

Bilbo nodded furiously, his long curly fringe bouncing about his own tear streaked face. "I know, my love, I know, I know..."

"If I can't make good on my word to a child..." his jaw hung slack and the look of despair that was intensifying on the dwarf's face broke Bilbo's heart. Pulling one of Thorin's hands to his lips, he placed a kiss in the middle of the calloused palm.

"We will find her. As soon as we are able, love, we _will_ find her." And he raised himself up on his bare toes, and kissed his dwarf's tear-salted lips. Thorin kissed him back and all Bilbo could taste was heartbreak. Petting the mithril shirt, he managed a smile, the wetness on his cheeks making his skin feel tight.

"This is very beautiful. Did dwarves make it?"

Thorin nodded, "This was made by my people, long ago, for a young elf-princeling. Long, long ago..." And he disappeared to a time before there was a dragon and fire and death. Before starvation and shame. Before seeing a brother's heart's-blood spill from torn flesh. Before shielding a sister from the cruelty of the world with nothing but body and sword.

The clouds cleared from Thorin's eyes and he looked at the small, beautiful life standing before him; a hobbit with the truest heart and a will of iron. Down in the depths of his soul he knew he'd done nothing to earn Bilbo's respect, and certainly not his love, but Thorin could be selfish and he **was** greedy and he would keep that love for his own. And he always protected what was his. 

"May I put it on you?" he whispered.

Bilbo sniffled and nodded, "Yes, please." 

Bilbo lifted his arms above his head and closed his eyes as he felt the cool metal slide over his skin like water. It fit him perfectly and he loved the way it caught what little light there was in that immense chamber and refracted it countless times. Not unlike the...

"You look magnificent, my _Ghivashel_." 

It was the first time Thorin had used this endearment since entering the mountain and Bilbo's face crumpled; fat, hot tears poured down his face. Up into his arms the dwarf swept the hobbit, and carried him away, out of sight of the company.

With his arms wrapped around Thorin's neck, Bilbo buried his face in that solid wall of chest; the thundering heart just below the surface. He was unaware of where he was being taken until Thorin set him down gently on his feet. It was dark there, on the far side of the treasure room, the faint light of the other dwarves' torches just enough that he could see his lover's eyes. Thorin took Bilbo's hands in his and fell to his knees.

"I call you _Ghivashel_ and in the language known only to the children of Mahal...to my people...it means "treasure of all treasures"; that thing we hold dearest and cherish with every beat of our hearts. And for me, Bilbo, that is you." Thorin pressed Bilbo's hands to his lips.

It felt to Bilbo that his heart had stopped and a burst of joy erupted in a incoherent burble and more tears. Before he could speak, Thorin continued.

"I had a dream our last night in Laketown...and I saw you on the throne.."

Bilbo hiccuped a laugh, "Me?" Thorin nodded and Bilbo could make out a smile.

"Yes. You were beautiful, with emeralds in you hair and diamonds on your waistcoat, and you kissed me..."

Bilbo pulled his hands free and buried his fingers in Thorin's hair, "yes, love...I would kiss you..."

Thorin looked up, straight into Bilbo's eyes, "and you said I was yours."

Bilbo bent down and kissed the offered lips. "I am yours, Thorin. Forever."

"And I am yours, Bilbo, I belong to you...but I want to hear you say it."

"Say..."

"Say, _you are mine_ , please..."

Bilbo's breath came in short, shallow gasps, and he rested his forehead on Thorin's.

"Thorin Oakenshield..you...are... _mine_."

And they clung to each other, Thorin's arms around Bilbo's waist, Bilbo wetting the top of Thorin's head with kisses and tears. Thorin rose to his feet and lifted Bilbo's face to his.

"And you are mine, Bilbo Baggins. And I will be King Under the Mountain and I will have you by my side."

Bilbo, his eyes wet and glittering in the low light, listened, as Thorin described what he wanted for them.

"...joined for life, as a Dwarrow might to a Dam..."

"You want to marry me?" Bilbo asked in disbelief.

"Yes, Bilbo, will you marry me?"

Bilbo blinked, not certain if he was understanding completely.

"A dwarf king can marry a hobbit?"

Thorin laughed, "the King can marry whomever he chooses. So...I ask you again...will you marry me?"

"Thorin...I..."

"THORIN!!!"

Thorin and Bilbo turned in unison towards the echoing voice.

"THORIN!! COME SEE THIS!!!"

"Is that Gloín? " Bilbo asked. Thorin nodded.

"Yes, it is Gloín."

"Must be something really good to get Gloín sounding that excited." Bilbo took a step back from Thorin.

"You are right, Master Baggins," Thorin mumbled absently as he moved towards the sound of his name being called a third time.

Bilbo backed up against the ornately carved pillar behind him and tried to get his heart under control. He was uncertain if he was disappointed at the interruption or grateful. That last _Master Baggins_ was a timely reminder that something was wrong. Something was wrong with Thorin. And Bilbo knew what it was; Elrond had spoken of it and the dragon...that fucking dragon had gloated and purred about Thorin's weakness, his impending downfall. That's why...

He patted his pocket. It was still there, next to his magic ring. The beautiful white stone that made his heart swell when he first saw it and now lay warm and heavy in his pocket. 

The Arkenstone.

"Thorin," he whispered the name like a prayer, "Can you protect me from yourself?"

* * *

Bilbo held his breath. This was not going well.

"I will **not** treat with those who pretend at friendship! Who beg with one hand out and a sword behind their back!" Thorin yelled from the wall at the ruined gate of Erebor.

"And would you have it that the dragon still lived?" Bard asked, bewildered at the hostile reception he had received.

The hobbit stood a few paces back and watched, his heart wrenching in his chest, as the drama unfolded. It had been a goodly number of days since the dragon Smaug flew from the mountain, and now the company was all crowded about as they watched Thorin Thrain's son Oakenshield, in his first official negotiations as King Under the Mountain. 

"I would have it that there were not armed brigands at my door demanding recompense for more than they are due! And..." Thorin directed the full-weight of his anger at the elf who stood beside Bard, clad in armor of brilliant silver, "I will certainly not accept any word from you in good faith while you use my known enemy as a shield!"

"And how long are you willing to wait?" the Elvenking Thranduil asked, a touch of amusement in his voice. "As far as I know, gold makes for an unsatisfactory repast. I'm thinking you were better off as my guest."

A lengthy litany of khuzdul expletives flew out of Thorin's mouth until Balin gently laid a hand on his arm, whispering words only Thorin could hear. He shrugged off his advisor's hand.

"I will not dole out the wealth long deserved to my people to this...peasant. It was not dwarves who brought down his town! We are as much victims of that worm!"

"Thorin," shouted Bard, his patience worn down to its breaking point, "If you do not meet our claims upon the treasure, then we must consider you a foe and the mountain under siege!"

Bilbo watched, helpless, dread starting to build in his small body. When Thorin shot an arrow at Bard, striking the ground at the bowman's feet, the hobbit couldn't help but blurt out, "Thorin, NO! What are you...!" and take quick steps forward only to be grabbed roughly by Dwalin and pulled back. 

"Dwalin," Bilbo shuddered, the cold air burning in his lungs, "what is he doing?". He looked up at the stone-faced dwarf.

Dwalin spared the hobbit a glance, who swore he saw a touch of sadness in the depths of those dark eyes.

"He's being a king, lad. This is what he was born to be."

Just then, Thorin stormed past them, back into the mountain, Balin and nephews in tow. Dwalin clapped his hand on Bilbo's shoulder, lightly, as if in sympathy, and followed his bond brother into the darkness.

Bilbo stood in the cold of early winter and wrapped his arms around himself. He thought he might cry, but he'd found that there really weren't very many tears left in him. It occurred to him that he had cried more since falling in love with Thorin than in any time of his life, except, perhaps, when he lost his parents. He could hear the king yelling, trying to rally the troops, as it were. 

"You're getting them ready to starve for the cause, aren't you, my love?" Bilbo whispered at the pale blue sky. A pale, pale blue...not unlike the girl's eyes. Big eyes...full of hope. He sat himself on a large stone and looked out over the waste, at the ruins of Dale. It was as cold a landscape as the wind that blew through his clothes, straight through the mithril. Lakemen still gathered below and he considered yelling to them, trying to get their attention, asking if any knew of the Master's young servant girl, whether they knew if she lived or...

Bilbo suddenly had an idea, a **wonderful** idea! He would gather his dwarf and the girl and they would get away from there...far, far away...to the Shire. She'd be clad in her final gown of red and gold, all the pantries full and cellars too. He would feed the sweet girl cakes and milk until she could eat no more and tuck her into the softest bed she'd ever known to dream of knights and fair ladies. And then, he would bring his lover to his own bed; strip him down, shuck the mantel of king (that hated word), until he was only Thorin in his skin and Bilbo would make love to him with every ounce of his being. He would make his lover scream and cry to his maker and they would entwine limbs, with hands in hair and hearts beating in tandem and they would stay there, be happy there, grow old there. That's what Bilbo Baggins wanted more than anything in the whole wide world. Oh to see Thorin in his bed, hairy limbs poking out from under his grandmother's quilt, golden spring light pouring in through the windows! And he smiled brightly at the thought.

He pulled a rag out of his pocket and blew his nose.Then he laid his hand on the horrible weight in his pocket that felt like a lump of ice against his leg. He took a deep, painful breath. There was another idea in his head, but this one brought no smiles, no hope, except the hope that they would all survive the winter. 

"Oh," Bilbo slid off the rock as a single tear ran down his cheek, "what a dream it was."

* * *

Thorin stood, breathless, the pounding of his heart the only thing he heard.

"How...how came you by that! Answer me, **THIEF!** "

Bard pulled himself even taller as his men and elves alike tightened their grips on their swords.

"The men of Laketown are no thieves! We will return your... **PRECIOUS**...rock to you, in exchange for what is due us!"

"I said," Thorin's face was a horrible red as he entered a state of blind rage, "how came you by that heirloom of **MY FATHERS**! Answer me or you will never speak again!"

Bilbo felt himself step forward, his mouth open, and the words fell out, "Thorin...I...I did it...it was me. Thorin...love...it was..." And he went completely silent when summer blue eyes met his. He watched that face he knew so well, loved so terribly, go from bright red to as white as the first snow. There was disbelief written on that face...at first...

"Bilbo...no, my dream...don't lie for them... _ghiva_ -...no..." Thorin's throat seized shut as he watched Bilbo's face, that beautiful face, tell him all he needed to know. He closed his eyes and fought down the pain of this betrayal. This **ultimate** betrayal.

"Thorin...please...I had to...!" Bilbo felt a mad panic descend on him. He had expected this, but that knowledge didn't soothe at all.

" **NO**! No...you no longer get to talk. Dwalin," Thorin called to his oldest friend, his voice now low and gentle, "please take him away from here. Take him to his new friends. If he remains a moment longer he will feel my hands at his throat. He will be easier to forget if I do not wear his blood. Now, Dwalin... _please_." And Thorin turned away without another glance.

Dwalin laid a hard hand on Bilbo's shoulder and tried to pull him away, but the hobbit stood his ground. 

"Thorin," he pleaded, "Edda...find her..she loves you..."

"She will be cared for," Thorin ground out at him, his back still turned, "I will not make her suffer for your crime."

Bilbo could no longer see for the tears that blinded him and he allowed Dwalin to guide him away. He did stop before stepping onto the path down to the valley and looked back at the dwarf who stood silent, head bowed, his hand on the jagged edge of the wall.

"Thorin!" Bilbo yelled, his voice raw and broken. " _Forever_!"

He saw Thorin turn his head only slightly towards him and give the smallest of nods.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and some of the dialogue from the book Edda is reading comes from the song, "O! What a Dream it Was" by Future Bible Heroes:
> 
> I know I'll never be beautiful  
> but you kissed me once, in the sun  
> I know I'll never be loveable  
> but you made me think I was wrong
> 
> [Link to audio](http://beingsakin.wordpress.com/2011/02/09/on-stephin-merritt/)
> 
> (The above link is to a page about vocalist Stephen Merritt who you, if you're familiar with Lemony Snicket/Daniel Handler, may know as the voice of the Gothic Archies and the Magnetic Fields. An audio of "O! What a Dream it Was" is included)
> 
> That snippet of story was a wee bit influenced by **_The Children of Húrin_** by Professor Tolkien, by far the most heart-wrenching tale in all of the Legendarium, imho. 
> 
> With only one more episode left in this series, I want to thank everyone who has enjoyed this and left comments and kudos and encouraged me on in doing this thing that I've always wanted to do, but could never quite achieve. Bless all of you!!!
> 
> Go read [the gorgeous fics by Wanderingsmith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith). They are wonderful and she is awesome!
> 
> And I'm on [tumblr](http://bofursunboundbraids.tumblr.com/page/2)!


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